The Dark
by purplish-panda
Summary: Harry has always liked the dark. Severus Snape is about to discover why. Warnings: eating disorder, self harm. AU sixth year. May be triggering.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling. Therefore, I am sadly bereft of ownership of the Harry Potter universe. Please don't sue!

I have always liked the dark. The dark meant safe. It meant I was in my cupboard, and no-one ever hurt me when I was in there. Uncle Vernon didn't fit, nor Dudley for that matter, and Aunt Petunia would never lower herself to that. I felt secure there in a way that I never did anywhere else. Maybe, given my past, I should be claustrophobic. But I only am when I am locked in places, no matter how big or small. Otherwise, the dark takes over and I feel secure. In control. Invincible.

It is, perhaps, ironic that the Boy Who Lived, the icon of the Light, should find such comfort in darkness. But I do, nevertheless.

My love of the dark is, in part, why I am sitting under the quidditch stands at 2 in the morning, pressing a tissue against my once again injured limb, shivering.

You would never expect there to be so much light in a building at night. But there is. Torches on the corridor walls, lights from teachers' quarters, Filch's glowing lantern as he makes his rounds. The glow that the ghosts give off, nightlights, common room fires. The only other places that are as dark as my current position are broom cupboards, positioned around the castle. And they are too risky, too often checked by night patrol duty teachers or Filch, or invaded by groping couples. No, here is best. Even if I do have goosepimples, and my old scars stand out on my skin, looking like something out of a science fiction film.

This, sitting here, has become part of my daily routine. Which, in all, goes something like this; wake up at 5am, wash, dress, apply glamour, go to kitchen to collect breakfast from house elves, go for run, dispose of breakfast in the process, greet Ron and Hermione, go to lessons, grab some lunch from the Great Hall and dispose of it on the way to the Library, do homework in the Library, go to lessons, go to dinner and get the third degree from Hermione for not eating enough, protest that I have eaten plenty throughout the day and am not hungry, wash, dress, ostensibly go to bed, get up once the other guys in the dorm start snoring, walk to quidditch ground, run, sit under stands, go back to bed at about 2.30am, sleep, have nightmares, etc.

I really haven't got the energy to walk back right now. I'm freezing, and exhausted, and starving. And I deserve it all. I almost wish I could just stay here, and die from the cold. But, I really must go back. I sigh, and force myself to get up. I drag myself from under the stands, and start to trudge back to the castle.

Which is when everything goes wrong.

A/N: I knoww, it probably doesn't really make a lot of sense yet. And I know it's too short. But I really wanted to end it there. And I promise that all will be revealed shortly :D  
R&R please


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling. Therefore, I am sadly bereft of ownership of the Harry Potter universe. Please don't sue!  
A/N: By the way, I have decided that Snape is no longer a spy in this. Let's just say he blew his cover at the Ministry battle, k? Therefore, Harry doesn't like Snape, but he hasn't been being as mean to Harry, and so their relationship isn't quite so awful. Harry trusts him at least a little.

Professor Snape. Walking out of the Forbidden Forest, directly towards my current position.

I always knew god must hate me, if there is one, but this just takes the cake. He has obviously noticed me, and is currently striding towards me, looking angrier than I have ever seen him before. Which is saying something. I consider running, but my legs feel weak, and I know I will not get far. So I stay still in the shadows of the castle, hoping that my identity can be hidden by the darkness. Another reason I like darkness so much; the anonymity it can afford you. No such luck, of course. _Somehow_, he already knows it is me.

"Potter!" he spits, as soon as he gets close enough not to need to shout. "What in Merlin's name are you doing outside in your pyjamas at this time of night?! Flaunting curfew again! And no doubt your cohorts are with you somewhere hiding like the _brave_ Gryffindors they are!"

I was trying to shut him out, like I do Uncle Vernon when he is in a rage, but this I cannot ignore. I will not allow my stupidity to hurt my friends again. "No," I say, quietly but firmly.

He looks at me askance, and opens his mouth, no doubt to spew more vitriol, sneer 'No_ what, Potter?'_, but then he looks at me more closely, closes his mouth, and I almost curse as his face takes on a strange expression. Almost like...concern? Whatever it is soon flitters back off his face, so quick in fact that I start to doubt it was ever there. When he does speak, his tone of voice is more moderated, controlled. "What _have_ you been doing to yourself, Potter?"

I try for a confused look, as if I don't know what he's talking about. This appears to irritate him. "Follow me!" he snaps, and starts back towards the castle again, his pace quick. I scramble to follow him. No need to irritate the man further. As we walk, with me falling gradually further and further behind, I take out my wand and, as discretely as I can, cast my basic glamours. If he saw anything outside, he will look at me once in the good light of the castle and decide he was mistaken. I shall get detention and a lecture, lose points, and get sent off to bed.

As I slip my wand back away, I trip and fall. Snape does not even look back. In fact, he turns a corner and carries on as if he has not noticed. Which perhaps he hasn't. I try to drag myself to my feet, but find I can't. I simply haven't got the energy. I become aware of the fact that my arm is damp and sticky again, and I think for a moment that maybe I'll die here. And I even think for a moment that it wouldn't be a bad thing. But then Snape is back. He looks angry, which is usual, but then that fades into confusion, and then concern, as I manage to croak out "_Sir_..." and then lose consciousness.

The next thing I know, I'm lying in a bed. I hear voices nearby, and therefore keep my eyes shut so as to get an idea of my position. How much they know. Whether it's worth trying to run for it now I feel less weak. I hear voices, three once I listen for a bit. One I know is Snape, whispering furiously "_I don't know how you could have let it get to this, Albus. I know we all missed it, but surely you checked on him during the holidays, for Merlin's sake?" _Presumably this means Dumbledore is there too, which is confirmed by him protesting that _"I never thought, never even imagined that Harry would even consider doing such a thing!" _The third conversant joins in. Madame Pomfrey, sounding creepily like Hermione, crossly stating that "_With the abuse that this boy has obviously suffered, and the burden that has been placed on him, it is a miracle that his mental instability is only at this level! Not to even mention the loss of his Godfather."_

Great, she thinks I'm nuts? I open my eyes in indignation, before realising belatedly what I'd done. _Shit_. "Ah, Mr Potter, you're awake." Madame Pomfrey. "How are you feeling, dear boy?" Dumbledore. "Of all the damn-fool things to do, Potter..." Snape. Cut off by a stern look from Dumbledore.

Suddenly, I really, really want out of there. I don't want Pomfrey's clinical impartiality, or Dumbledore's patronising understanding, or Snape's ridicule. Childishly, I turn my face to hide it under my cover. Whilst I'm there, I notice that my cuts, even my scars, are gone. I can't deal with this. I scratch and bite slightly manically at my arm. I _liked_ my scars. They were _mine_. I find myself shouting "They were mine! You had no right to take them! NO RIGHT!" I faintly here Snape say something that sounds suspiciously like "_I told you so_." And then the covers are taken away, too, and I am exposed. There is shouting, and Snape grabs my arms and gently holds them to prevent me scratching myself further, even as I continue to try. And the last thing I know is Albus Dumbledore, my supposed biggest champion and protector, pointing his wand at me and intoning "_Stupefy_", as Severus Snape, greasy git extraordinaire, bane of my school life for 5 years, tries to stop him.

Maggie Ann – huggle I self harmed for 4 years, so I know a bit what it's like, I've more or less stopped now, but the feeling I often still get that I want to do it is still really intense, even after over a year of not doing it regularly. I really hope that you stay safe and your life gets happier soon, so you feel you don't need it 3

Thanks everyone else who reviewed, this story will be mentor!Snape. Might be slash much later on, but probably not, and if there is it won't be SSHP and won't be a big part.

R&R please! Any and all constructive criticism is welcomed!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling. Therefore, I am sadly bereft of ownership of the Harry Potter universe. Please don't sue!

A/N: Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews. I'm far too lazy to reply to them all individually, sorry, but I really appreciate them. Just to clarify, if there is slash later on it will be really minor, and it won't be SSHP, or HP anyone else. xxx

Waking up in a different place to where I was when I lost consciousness seems to be becoming a habit. Not a pleasant one. And when I'm brought back to the world of the living this time, I haven't a clue where I am. All I know, is that I'm lying in another bed, with Snape standing by the side of it tucking away his wand. "Har-," he starts. He tries again. "Pot-." He stops again, looking slightly confused. I feel like I should help him out. But I don't. Suddenly, I remember what they'd done to me. And I'm furious again. I must look it, too, because he clears his throat and holds up a hand to halt my imminent tirade. I blink at him. "Mr Potter," he says, more firmly. "I know you are angry, possibly furious, with me. But before you reconfirm this, we need to discuss some things. _Calmly_."

I blink at him. I really desperately want to shout, to hit him, to cut, to throw things, anything. But I really need to know what's going on. So I say nothing. He draws a chair over to sit beside me. "First of all, I'm sure you're wondering where we are. These are my quarters. Professor Dumbledore has allowed you to bring you to stay down here until you are fully...recuperated. You will sleep and eat here in these rooms with me. You will attend classes and do homework, but you will be supervised at all times, and if I judge that attending classes is becoming detrimental to your health, you will cease to attend. Questions?"

There is a long silence. Just as he opens his mouth to say something, probably check that I was listening or something, I speak. I only have one question. "Why?" I ask. My voice is hoarse from disuse. I realise all of a sudden how dry my throat is.

He looks surprised. "Why?" he echoes.

"Yeah, why?!" I snap, ignoring how my voice cracks a little. "Goddamnit, Snape, why! Why do I have to stay down here with you, why are you _forcing _me to be watched 24 fucking 7?? WHY?!" I'm hysterical, but I don't care. I grab the nearest thing to me, and throw it blindly across the room. It makes a sortof _thump_ noise against whatever it hits, but I only barely register it.

Tears are running down my cheeks and I don't even know why, I just want to stop, I don't want Snape to see this. I put my hand in my mouth and bite it, as hard as I can, trying to concentrate on the pain, the pain instead of Snape trying to wrench my hand out of my mouth whilst I hit out at him with my other arm and my legs. I want him gone, really, really. And then, just like that, all the fight has gone out of me, and I have no energy left in me to fight him with. And I find myself being almost embraced by Snape, my back against his chest, his hands encircling my wrists, his chin atop my head.

And I realise that I don't want him gone. I feel...safe? I squeeze my eyes shut and twist my head to bury in his robes. I'm past embarrassment, I just want into my cupboard. And, god help me, at this moment in time, Snape is my cupboard.

I must have fallen asleep, because next thing I know, I'm alone. And I'm _mortified_. How could I have acted like that? Like a _baby_? I dig my fingers into my arm, needing the pain again, needing the punishment. That was _stupid_, Potter. Absolutely goddamned stupid. I look around and my eyes fall onto the ceramic cup on the bed-side table, along with a scrap of paper. I pick up the cup. Pumpkin juice. Can't drink it. God only knows what amount of sugar they've already forced into me when I was out in the hospital wing, how far they've set me back already. Notice a plant. I glance around furtively, then slip out of bed, and pour the pumpkin juice out of the cup, into the pot. I then wrap the cup in the blanket that was covering me, and bash it against the wall. I can feel that it's not broken, I need it to break. I smash it again and again against the wall, but nothing. I take it out of the blanket, and hurl it at the wall. It clunks against the wall, and falls onto the floor, unbroken. I can't take it. I scramble out of bed and pick it up and throw it and myself at the wall, again and again and again. Somewhere in the process I drop the cup, hardly even noticing, and just pound the wall with my body. I hear a crack.

Then a faint whoosh, a seemingly faraway voice says 'Harry', and I am being pulled away from the wall and sat on a chair. I feel, rather than see, the faint crackle of magic healing my body. And then Snape's voice is rumbling through the air, telling me that, "We need to discuss some rules."

A/N: I might not update for a bit, cos I'm currently working on my personal statement for uni applications (aaaaaaaagh) but the next part shouldn't be too long. I know the self harm bits are quite prominent and graphic at the moment, but I promise they'll get less frequent very quickly. Stuff will happen, you'll see ;)

R&R if you get the chance, please :D


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: No more disclaimers for you. If I were JK, I wouldn't be sitting here doing this, I'm sure. Thanks again for the reviews. I would continue to encourage you to R&R if you have the time. Thank you for the reviews so far. Soooo, results! Anybody get any results? How'd you all do? Lol, I'm nosy. I was quite pleased, I was doing AS levels, 4As and 2Bs, so I'm pretty damn chuffed! =P Anyway, on with the story!

Rules. Great. "Rule number one," Snape's voice rumbles. I can't fathom his expression, and, frankly, I'm getting sick of it. Would it kill him to openly show how he was feeling occasionally?? But anyway, I digress. Rule no. 1, right. "No self harming behaviour, Mr Potter. This includes cutting, burning, hitting, scratching and biting yourself." I expected this. I have been careless, and will pay the price. I shall have to be careful for a while, maybe explore my inner thighs for a while until they decide that I'm 'better'. Everyone thinks that they can 'cure' you. They're all wrong.

He continues. "Rule number two. You will write in a journal which will be provided for you for a minimum of half an hour every day. You will write about your thoughts and feelings, and anything else you feel is noteworthy. Neither I nor anyone else will read this, except you, Mr Potter." Ha, right.

"Rule number three." He looks pointedly at the cup that I had endeavoured to break. "You will not break my property without my permission." Oh sure. Like I'm going to _ask_ to break his property. And he'd agree if I did. 'Hey Snape, can I just smash up one of your cups?' 'Sure, Potter. As many as you like.' I can see it now. He's looking at me as if I should do something, so I nod anyway.

"Rule number four. You have the right to question my instructions if you feel there is a valid reason to do so, but, ultimately, you will do as you are told. Valid reasons would include endangerment to your or another's wellbeing either mentally or physically. They do not include 'I don't want to'.

"Rule number five. For half an hour a day, you will talk to an adult of your own choosing. Either someone like me or Lupin, or a professional therapist. Your decision.

"If I feel that you are not complying with these rules, I reserve the right to revoke privileges such as having your friends to see you and going to Hogsmeade." He looks a little awkward. "I have also been asked to inform you that you are temporarily banned from playing Quidditch." He holds up a hand as if to forestall an outburst. "It was not my decision, and if you wish to contest it I would suggest you take it up with the headmaster." I shrug. Frankly, I don't really care anymore.

"Any questions?" he asks.

Do I have any questions? "How-." My throat is dry and my voice cracks a little from disuse or all the shouting I have been doing lately. I don't know. I start again. "How long?" He looks slightly confused, so I clarify. "How long are you going to keep me here?"

He looks at me a little sadly, and I think, slightly ridiculously, that I have identified more emotions in his face in the past few minutes than I have in the last five years. "As long as it takes, Harry. You have been doing yourself a great disservice both emotionally and physically, the way you have been treating yourself. The length of your stay with me will depend on how long it takes for you to recuperate from this. The more you comply, the quicker you will be able to leave."

I know how this game works. I would bet anything I will be out of here before the end of the week. I have always been good at working out what people want to hear, and telling them it. It was a useful skill at the Dursleys', and at my old primary school, and now here. I will come to my senses. Tell everyone that I am sorry for causing trouble, it was just a phase. Promise I won't do it again. Damage limitation. Snape is looking at me curiously, as if trying to fathom why I am suddenly smiling. I don't know myself, to be honest. I school my expression. Questions, right. "Um, can I have my wand back, sir?"

"I think not," he replies, still staring at me with those pit black eyes. Creepy. "I will reconsider at a later date. At the moment it is far too likely that you would use it to harm yourself or hide the fact that you had harmed yourself." Goddamn you, Snape. He picks up the cup from where it had fallen. Studies it critically. His eyes flicker to the potted plant. He looks back at me, and raises an eyebrow minimally. _Fuck_. "Ah," he drawls. "It would seem appropriate for me to clarify Rule One." Somehow, it has acquired capitals. "Self harming behaviour would include _starving_ yourself, Mr Potter."

I try to dredge up my most incredulous expression, mixed with a little confusion. But from the slight curl of his lip, I either haven't succeeded, or he isn't fooled. Damn. I decide that a little denial is in order. "I don't _starve_ myself. _Sir_."

"Oh, of_ course _not. Someone else poured the juice into the pot. Presumably the same person has been mutilating your arms and refusing you food all term, yes? And, what, longer? Months? Years? A strangely devoted individual." The sarcasm is so thick you could cut it. I want to reply. Protest. Deny. _Something._ But instead I find myself turning away, shamefaced. He shouldn't be able to do this to me. Why is it that I always want approval from the people whom I will never have it from? The Dursleys. Snape. _Sirius_. I curl myself tighter and dig my nails into my palm. Way to go, Potter. Picture of recovery and sanity here, aren't you? Failure. A hand on my shoulder. "I mean it, Harry." His voice is gentler now. "No more." He uncurls my hands. "I am going into the next room. I will arrange a meal. You may have ten minutes." He goes in the direction of the door. Pauses. "Think on who you wish to talk to." The door opens, but I can still feel his heavy gaze on me. Finally, he repeats "Ten minutes", then closes the door.

I let out a breath I didn't even realise I was holding. He knows everything. _Everything._ I stare bleakly at the wall. He didn't believe my denial. I don't know who will. I _can't_ talk to Remus. Not after - everything. A professional therapist is out of the question. Last year was bad enough, when most people believed I was mental because of Voldemort. But if- _when_ this got to the papers, everyone would know. And, worse, this time, it would be the truth. McGonagall would be mortifying. Dumbledore. Well. Just no. Definitely not the Weasleys. Which leaves Snape. _Snape_.

I have to wake up in a minute. It has to be a horrific dream, and in a minute, I will wake up under the quidditch stands. But I can feel the slight sting of the new tiny red crescents on my palms. I had smelt the sickly sweetness of the pumpkin juice. And I can hear Snape knocking on the door, telling me that my ten minutes is up and will I come out now please?

If I get up, I acknowledge that this is real. That if I don't go, there will be consequences that matter to me because they exist outside of some sick dream world that I might be trapped in.

I remember Snape in the hospital wing, reacting to my despair over my sudden lack of scars with an I Told You So. This means...this means that Snape had stood up for me. Understood, at least a little. And maybe, in a world where Snape tries to defend me, I can at least repay him by allowing him to feel that he has helped me. Cured me. And therefore, I know I must go out there. And accept his help.

Even if I know that I am far beyond any help.

A/N: I don't like it very much. But it's been a fair while, so here you are. I start school on Tuesday, so updating will be slower. But I promise I have every intention of finishing it. Reviews would be very welcome.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks so much for the lovely comments, and I'm really sorry for the massive delay in updating, A2s are **crazy**.

Snape doesn't turn round when I open the door. He is talking in a low voice to someone in the fireplace. I wonder for a moment if he is reporting to Dumbledore, but as he stands I see the shrivelled profile of a house elf leaving the fire. I didn't even know they could do that. I figure it makes sense, but.... My thoughts are interrupted by Snape, whom I suddenly notice is regarding me with a strange expression on his face. I suppose I would do the same, in his position. I've been staring at the fire without noticing, with my recent track record he's probably expecting me to try and leap into it or something. I feel strangely compelled to reassure him that this is not the case. I even open my mouth to tell him so, but at the same moment he ushers me to the table and pulls me out a chair.

"Sit down, Mr Potter."

I obediently take my seat, just as food appears on the table. Various flasks and bowls and cups pop into existence in front of me, and despite it being a familiar occurrence, it startles me. I jump backwards, nearly overbalancing my chair. He catches the back of it, steadying me, and then slips into his own seat, opposite mine. He picks up a flask and unscrews the top. He pours some of its contents into a bowl, adds a spoon, and holds it out to me. "Soup."

I take a deep breath. I can deal with soup. I hear the voice starting up in my head, the one that has been with me for as long as I can remember, and reminds me suspiciously of Uncle Vernon. It spews vitriol, telling me that I am weak, pathetic, worthless. A freak. A goddamned fucking worthless fat freak, to be precise. I try as best I can to ignore him, and reach my hand out to take the bowl. I realise as he hands it to me that my hands are shaking. Badly. The soup is slopping over the sides, dropping onto the table. God, I'm so pathetic. I can't even hold a bowl steady. He takes it back, and places it down in front of me. I stare at it. Suddenly, it seems a massive amount. I cannot possibly eat it all, and I begin to panic. I try to take another deep breath, but I cannot, it is as if someone is squeezing my lungs. I lower my spoon to the bowl, fill it, and try to raise it to my lips, but the contents of my spoon will not stay on it. I plunge my hand down towards the bowl, hoping the soup is hot enough to calm me and that Snape will believe it was an accident.

But, halfway down, my hand is caught in a hard grip. Another hand goes to my mouth and forces something between my lips. A vial? Liquid pours into my mouth at the same time as Snape, who I now realise is kneeling beside my chair, commands me to "Swallow," his tone brooking no disagreement. So I do. As I feel the liquid ooze down my throat like pond sludge, I feel my panic recede. And my embarrassment rise. Again. I stare downwards, unseeing. He still grips my hand. "I must apologise, Harry," he states quietly. As if he means it, weirdly. "I should have known that a sit down meal was too ambitious, this soon." He produces another vial. "It is a nutrient potion. Will you drink it, please?"The indignity of my proud, unpleasant Potions Master asking me to 'please' do something, with what I could only identify as a slight waver in his voice, motivated me to comply. And offer a peace offering.

"You," I whisper. He looks at me strangely. I bolster myself and try again. "I wish to speak with you, sir. About. You know." He blinks at me. "If you don't mind, sir. Please." He seems to realise what I am talking about, and relief, mixed with a little of something else, flashes in his eyes. Surprise, I would imagine.

He nods. "As you wish, Mr Potter."

In for a penny, in for a pound. "Harry, sir," I venture.

There is a slightly awkward silence, in which his dark, once again unfathomable eyes catch mine, as if searching for something. "Harry," he agrees.

I wonder if he found it.

A/N: I'm an awful person for leaving it so long and then giving you this silly little chapter, I know. I will endeavour to update quicker this time. I'm kindof disappointed with the chapter, to be honest, so any feedback you could give on how it could be improved would be much appreciated. Please review if you have the time! 3


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hey! Not so long this time :D

Okay, so after this chapter, which I hope you all like, you have some options. Firstly, do you want a Snape POV chapter, or should I stick with Harry? Or someone else entirely? Secondly, Draco. I've been thinking about him, and I was wondering how you would like him; not really in the story at all, or a definite part in the story. If you want him to play a part in it, would you prefer positive [friends or something, maybe Snape's godson, I don't know], neutral [more like an ally than an actual friend] or negative [enemies, possibly even a deepening of the animosity and potentially even providing a setback in Harry's progress in the future or something]. Finally, would you prefer more frequent updates on the shorter side, or less frequent but longer ones? Entirely up to you, m'dears! :P

Thanks again for all the lovely reviews, especially those in which there was advice, that's always great. Please continue to R&R if you have the time.

On with the story!

-

"Harry, I need you to co-operate with me for this to work," Snape tells me wearily. He has asked me the same question three times now, and I have not yet provided an answer. I know it is futile, but I will not help him in this, and yet for some reason cannot bring myself to lie. I briefly entertain the idea of a mild truth potion in the nutritive one, but even with my admittedly limited potions knowledge I know that mixing potions like that would at the very least nullify both.

"Okay, fine," he says. Regretfully. _Shit_. "I'm sorry, but I have no other options. I will check your luggage myself." Before I even have a chance to contest this, which I would most assuredly like to, he calls out in his usual brisk tone, "Accio Harry's trunk." He looks slightly disappointed, and I feel like I've probably just taken, and failed, another test. Figures. He unzips it and starts to unpack its contents onto 'my' bed. I almost object, but decide that I might as well pick my battles. He'll do it anyway, only this way I get to watch.

After a moment, he pulls out my scales. I nicked them from the infirmary supply cupboard when I was there one time a couple of years back. I want them, need them even. But, if I am to fool him, they must not matter to me, in his eyes. I will formulate a contingency plan if he takes them. Which he undoubtedly plans to. And sure enough. "I cannot let you keep these, at least for the time being." He places them in a box that I hadn't noticed before. "You may have them back after you feel better, if you wish."

I shrug. Phase one. "Only for quidditch anyway."

His eyebrows rise almost imperceptibly. "Indeed?"

"I have to be light. For the team." I pause for effect. "Y'know, seeker and all that. If I get heavy I'll weigh the whole team down." Sigh. "I can't let them down, Professor."

He looks a little sceptical for a moment. Then he looks directly at me, and tells me that "There is a vast difference between staying trim for quidditch and starving yourself, Harry."

I try for downcast. "I- I know, sir. I guess it just...got a little out of control. I see that now."

"I see." He doesn't look convinced, but he lets it go, which I suppose is something.

He sorts through my belongings in silence for a moment, and then comes to Sirius' mirror. Sirius' _broken_ mirror, to be exact. That joins the scales. I admit to being a little bit devastated, as pathetic as that is. Those few broken shards are basically the last link I have to Sirius. However, either he doesn't notice my distress, or he chooses to ignore it. I glance at him quickly. He appears to be completely focussed on the case, so I make a grab for the shards. I go to slip them in my pocket, when I notice that he has stopped sorting, and is staring at me. "I-." Don't have anything to say. "Please?" I don't really even know what I am asking for.

He holds out his hand for them, and I reluctantly relinquish them, resigning myself to losing them, at least for the time being. To my surprise, instead of putting them back in the box, he draws out his wand. God, surely he isn't going to destroy them? Punishment for trying to take them back when he'd made it clear I couldn't have them?

Apparently not. He mutters a couple of incantations and returns them to my trunk. Neither of us say a word, and I don't think I could even if I tried. A lump comes up from nowhere and lodges itself in my throat. I guess Snape will be moving to the top of the list of people I'm constantly letting down. I feel absolutely horrible for what I have done and plan to do to trick him.

I lean my head onto one of my hands and thread my fingers through my hair, in order to tug slightly on the roots to create a little relief. I have used this trick before, although not for a while, in class and the like when I was particularly desperate. However, this time is different. This time, when I thread my fingers through my hair, before I even begin to tug, hair detaches from my head.

I panic and take my hand away. I look at my hand, where the telltale hair sits, then down to the floor where some has drifted to and settled. I screw my eyes shut tightly, willing it away, but when I open them again it is still there. My heart races as I bend to grab it up off the floor, hoping that I can get it before Snape notices. No such luck, however. I feel the pressure of his hand on my shoulder, choose the lesser of two evils, and pass out yet again.

-

A/N: So much for trying to lengthen chapters, eh? Ohwell, I'll try harder in future, promise. I hope you enjoyed it, please R&R if you get the chance. Also, I meant to say; I don't have my writing beta-ed, so any mistakes you see, I would be more than happy to hear about! Similarly, any suggestions in terms of plot etc. other than what I asked about at the beginning would be very welcome :D

A/N2: Okay, a review I just got for this chapter [thanks for reviewing btw :D] made me realise that I should have clarified instead of just assuming that it was obvious that at the end, when Harry's hair is falling out - that's because he has an eating disorder, of which hair loss can be a side effect.

x


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I am **so sorry** for leaving it updated for so long. I am an utter failure, and I sincerely apologise and realise that if I have lost readers by doing this, it is my own stupid fault. I know how much I hate it when people don't update for ages, and yet here I am doing just that.

Thanks for the reviews, especially the advice-y ones. I now have more of a plan grins evilly I will get on now.

Unfortunately, my reprieve is brief. I come round after only a few minutes, according to the clock, and, surprise surprise, Snape looks weary again.

"Harry, you can't keep running away from your problems that way," he tells me. Well duh. "I hope you realise the seriousness of this situation. I do not know how aware you are of this, but the reason your hair came out so easily just then is because you are so severely malnourished. It is an extremely serious situation."

I think this would probably be a bad moment to ask him if he is aware he is repeating himself. For f_uck_'s sake, Potter, this is not the time for flippancy, you stupid ungrateful fucking freak! Make an effort, freak. "I'm sorry, sir. I-" Do it. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise how far it had gone, sir. How badly I messed up. I'm sorry."

He stands up off of the floor and holds out his hand to me. I don't want to take it, don't want to take it when I know he'll be able to feel how fucking heavy I am, what a failure I am. But. I take his hand and let him help me up. A brief flash of something flashes across his face. Even when I am standing, he does not release my hand. "Do not apologise," he instructs me, so softly I barely hear it. "For God's' s sake, don't apologise." The hint of pain in his voice confuses me and makes me want to cry for reasons I do not understand. Then suddenly, he's normal again, brisk and business-like. "Let's finish later," he says decisively, gesturing at the forgotten trunk. "A change of scenery will do us both a world of good, I should think."

We leave his quarters and walk the corridors. The corridors are dark and empty, and I must look confused, for he tells me without me asking that it is "Quite late." It's almost quite amusing, actually, he sounds almost sheepish, like he's a prefect sneaking out after curfew. I want to laugh, but feel like if I do, I probably won't be able to stop. And I hardly think a hysterical episode would help my case right now.

"Where are we going, sir?" I venture after a while of just seemingly randomly pacing up and down corridors.

He looks quite surprised, as if he hadn't really thought about it himself. "Where would you like to go?"

Say it. "Uhm, I'm feeling kindof hungry, actually sir." I feel sick even saying it, but the look on his face is worth it. Bemusement, I think, with subtle undertones of disbelief and just a little hope.

"Kitchens, then," is all he says, a little tentatively. Then he snorts with short laughter. It is a foreign sound, and quite pleasant, in a way. "I would lead the way, but I daresay you probably know it better than me."

As we draw closer to the painting which hides the kitchens, the sick feeling I have been repressing heightens. God, I don't know if I can actually go through with this. I look up at him, and he nods for me to go ahead and let us in.

As soon as I do, I wish I hadn't. I stand, stuck to the spot. Typically, that makes the situation even worse, as I make Snape crash into the back of me, drawing the attention of the house elves, who cluster around proclaiming how "pleased we is to see yous, Professor Snape, sir, Mister Harry Potter sir!" Drawing the attention of the two people who I just don't think I can face right now. I am turning around, trying to force my way back to the entrance to run as far away as possible, when I am stopped by Hermione's voice, stating possibly the most obvious thing I have ever heard her say; "Harry?!"

A/N: I'm so bad. It's a pathetically short chapter again, and I promise I will try and finish it tomorrow. I have a lesson tonight, or else I would do it tonight. I hope you think it's okay :D

I would really really appreciate it if you review, but obviously, yeah. I understand if I get none after being such a pathetic updater :X

I apologise for any typos, if there are any typos or even just you think doesn't tie up with previous chapters, etc, please let me know 3

On a pretty much completely unrelated note, I just have to say that as I was writing this I was listening to Selective Memory - Eels. It's my new favourite song. Listen to it if you get the chance;)


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I promised I'd be good and do some more today, so here you are! :P

You even get some review replies ;)

Ralia: I cut for about 4 years and have had ongoing eating issues for about 8 or 9, so I have an idea of how it all goes. However, I've only had kindof really limited experience of any kind of help as far as stopping goes, so any advice you [or anyone else for that matter] could give me would be very much appreciated. On any aspect, obviously, not just that one :)

JWOHPFan: Thankies :D

101spacemonkey: Thank you :)

My-Musings: Thankyouu! And thanks for the rec. Even though I did have a mini panic when my words started disappearing! :P

-

This cannot be happening. Hermione and Ron rush over like if they don't get a hold on me, I might disappear again. To tell the truth, I probably would. I want nothing more right now than to run back through the corridors and lock myself in Snape's rooms for ever. But Snape's hand is gripping my shoulder [not painfully, just...there], and Hermione is hugging me, and Ron is just clutching my sleeve, as if he doesn't really know what to do.

I offer a smile. My best smile. But I can't speak.

"Harry," Hermione repeats, her eyes searching my face. My eyes catch contact with hers for a moment, but I can't hold the contact. I see the tears budding in her eyes, and I just can't do it. You did that, freak. You made her cry. My eyes flick to Ron briefly, and apparently that's all the encouragement he needs.

"Mate," he croaks, hoarsely. "What the fuck have you done to yourself?" His voice is neither judgmental nor accusatory. Just lost.

Like me.

It is a kind of testament to how badly I have messed up that Snape doesn't berate Ron for his language, or the fact that Ron and Hermione's presence in the kitchen at this time of night has been ignored. He has retreated, but is still there in the shadows. He is pretending that he isn't listening, but I know he is. I don't know what to say, how to react. I want to apologise, justify, but I can't. So instead I just offer a statement that sounds lame even to me. "It's good to see you guys." The wrong thing to say, apparently. Hermione lets out a sob. Ron just stares at me, as if I'd ran into my own funeral and danced atop of the coffin. Starkers.

Snape twitches, as if he might step in. Please god, make him step in. But, typically, he doesn't. Instead, he just stands there. Suddenly, I can't restrain myself any further. I burst out with, "I'm really sorry. I mean, really, truly sorry. I'm sorry. I am." Hermione is crying harder now. I offer her my hand, which she takes and clings onto with intensity which is almost painful. I feel Ron's arms come round the two of us, and I feel safe. Loved. Of course, it cannot last. I do not deserve it to last, who am I to think I deserve love, anyway. Nobody will love me when they figure out the full extent of how shit I am, how dangerous I am to be close to. What a murderous_ freak_ I am.

I do not even realise I am hyperventilating until Snape gently prises my lips open and pours the contents of a vial through them again. Then I am numb. It is nothing to do with the potion, I am sure, but although I can hear Snape murmuring to Hermione and Ron, presumably making excuses for how pathetic I am, and then feel him leading me away, I am in a cloud of nothingness. I only barely register the huge, staring eyes of the house-elves as he bustles me out into the corridor, and the corridors pass in a blur. It is as if I am a stranger in my own body, and nothing is quite real, or even familiar.

Somehow, I end up on Snape's settee with a blanket over my knees. Snape sits down on the other end and studies me for a moment. "I suppose you're not hungry any more," he remarks. It's not a question. He is right. I can face the prospect of _consuming_ even less than I could earlier. I confirm his supposition anyway, shaking my head a little. He sighs. He waves his hand at something, and music starts playing. It's a tune which I vaguely remember from somewhere, but can't name. "Do you mind?" he enquires. Sincerely, as if if I say I do, he would turn off his music, playing on his music player in his quarters. The world has gone mad. I shake my head again.

We sit in a kind of companionable silence for a while. After a time, the same piece starts again, but he doesn't seem to notice. I stare at the wall until my vision goes fuzzy, despite my glasses. He clears his throat, making me jump and glance in his direction. He rubs his eyes, as if trying to wipe the tiredness out of them. He clicks his fingers, and requests a coffee of the house elf who appears; he obviously doesn't plan on sleeping tonight, I note. Then, he starts talking, like he doesn't even really know what he's saying.

"I knew your mother, you know." Of course I do. That memory flashes through my mind, his memory. Occlumency. Sirius. I close my eyes. "We were best friends at one time. Very best friends." My eyes fly open. What?? "We lived near each other as children. I told her about magic and let her borrow the books my mother gave me, and she...she helped me with everything. With recognising that it was okay to be happy and carefree. With facing up to my problems, rather than running away from them." He pauses for a long moment, and I think that perhaps he has realised what he is saying. Or fallen asleep. Then he continues, with some effort. "With the bruises my father gave me." He glances at me covertly, then says with some finality, "Of course, you know how this story ends. I failed her and became the antithesis of everything she had ever stood for, and she married your father and had you."

I assume the failure he is talking about is the memory. I play it in my mind, and suddenly, with this new knowledge, I see it in a new light. I notice how Snape's embarrassment increases tenfold when my mother comes over to defend him. I see the half-smile she gives him before she turns on my father. I see the utter _hurt_ in her eyes when he says...it. And I see his utter deseperation, regret, and devestation as she turns away from him. I see in his eyes how I felt when Ron turned against me in fourth year, only more. I understand it. His best friend, _first_ friend, seeing him like that, in the throes of indignity. And then her, a _girl_, saving him from his tormentors. It is little wonder he lashed out.

I think for a while longer, wondering why his relationship with my mother was so irreparably damaged by that instance. Wondering how she could be so...callous, to turn her back on him when he so obviously needed her. As my thoughts get more disjointed and disrupted, I recognise the signs of imminent sleep creeping in. And, just as I am on the brink of sleep, I _think _I hear him say in a voice so low and so wretched that I hardly recognise it as his voice a statement that I cannot really even begin to comprehend in my current sleep-ready state; "I failed you both."

A/N: I apologise for the slightly crappy ending. I hope you enjoyed the slightly longer chapter, though! Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.

Oh, and the piece that I was thinking of Snape turning on when they return to his quarters was Lux Aeterna, from Mozart's Requiem. Beautiful piece.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thank you to my awesome reviewers; The Dagdah's Priestess, Mizuki Yagami, SuicideAngel1369 [blushes], JWOHPfan, Ralia [thanks for the constructiveness :D I'll try and bear it in mind!] and 101spacemonkey!

WARNING: Pretty graphic purging action in this chapter, guys. Sorry. I've put markers in so you know where it is, so if you think you may find it offensive and/or triggering, please give it a miss.

I wake up in my own room. I try not to pay any mind to how I got there. I want to believe it was _mobilicorpus_, but for some reason, I don't think it was. I have some kind of vague whisper in the back of my head that thinks it remembers Snape carrying me in, setting my down gently into my bed, tucking the sheets around me. I resolutely ignore it whilst I get ready for classes. When I leave my room...rather, _Snape's_ room, I remind myself, the first thing I see is Snape sitting at the table frowning at his cereal. He looks up as I enter the room, and clears his expression immediately.

"Ah. Harry." He stands up and holds out a potion vial. "Drink." I force myself to take the vial and swallow its sickly sweet contents. He offers a nod of approval and slight quirk of his lips at my grimace. "If, at any point today, you begin to feel unduly...stressed by anything, you will find me, another teacher, or your friends. You will not secret yourself away somewhere and 'deal' with it. Yes?"

"Yes, sir." Like I'm going to disagree.

He stares at me for a moment longer, then nods briskly and sighs. "Right. I expect to see you in the Great Hall at lunch."

"Sir." He hands me my wand. I take that as my cue to leave, nodding my thanks as I get out as quickly as I can without seeming rude.

I can feel that _stuff_ seeping into my bloodstream, polluting my body again, and I want it out. I have twenty minutes until my first class, which Snape presumably thinks I'll spend catching up with my friends. Personally, I think I did enough catching up last night. I hear voices coming along the corridor around the corner, and duck into the nearest room.

Which, by some hideous trick of fate, happens to be Myrtle's old bathroom. I lock myself into one of the cubicles and bite my lip as I hear the voices pass outside. It would be extremely foolish to even think of it. But...Hermione tells me Myrtle prefers the prefects' bathroom these days. And I won't have time if I have to try and avoid everyone all the way to the next empty bathroom.

-WARNING SECTION-

I kneel on the floor, sighing and berating myself for a fool. I throw some loo-paper down the toilet to reduce splashback, and suck my fingers into my mouth to make them slick with saliva, then push them further down my throat. Cough. Retch. Nothing. _Come on_. Further into my throat. And...there. It looks disgusting. But I'm not done yet. I repeat the process a few more times, until my stomach is throbbing, my head is aching, my eyes and nose are streaming, and there is nothing but bile. I must be a disgusting, disgusting person to feel a slight sense of calm and relief wash over me as I pull the chain, even whilst I feel grotty. I dislike purging, like that. It's...messy. Ugly. But still, effective.

I leave the cubicle and go to the sink to rinse the rancid bile taste out of my mouth, wash my face.

-WARNING SECTION OVER-

When I am finished, I look up to the mirror. I look awful, but right now, that is not what I am worried about. Because there is someone standing behind my reflection. With wide, transparent eyes, framed by awful, thick, transparent glasses. _Myrtle._

Goddamn it, can nothing ever go right?? Calm, Potter. "Hey Myrtle," I greet her, trying to keep my tone light. "See, I promised I'd come see you again!" It sounds pathetically insincere and falsely bright, even to me.

She doesn't even acknowledge that I have spoken. "What have you done, Harry Potter? What have you _done_?" Her voice is rising in pitch and volume, and I cannot have this right now. Her normal morbid slant on whatever happens is noticeably absent.

"_Nothing_, nothing. I just wanted to see you."

"LIAR!"

Change tactics. "Myrtle, please." I know I sound desperate, but this is important. She can't tell anyone. _Snape can't know._ "Please, don't tell anyone you saw me here, please?" She seems to be wringing her hands. "Please, Myrtle. We're friends, right? Right? Please, Myrtle. _Please_." You're pathetic, Potter.

Her eyes drop to the floor, then flicker to the right. Then suddenly, her head shoots up. "I'm sorry, Harry Potter." And just like that, she shoots into the nearest cubicle, down the cistern, all the while me shouting after her to stop, please, just stop.

A/N: I realise it's pretty short, especially if you don't read the purge scene, but I'm pretty tired, and to be fair this is your third chapter in two weeks, so :P And I want to get this part out there, besides. I really hope you like it, please read and review, even if just to tell me that you hated it. I'm also sorry for what I'm sure was over-use of italics. That always happens when I write late, for some reason. I'll try to get the next part out asap. If I read it again in the morning and it seems even crapper than it does right now, I'll do a re-write, promise.

Also, I can't really remember what Myrtle calls Harry in the books. So if I got it wrong, sorry. To be perfectly honest, I nearly wrote her like Dobby, that's how thick I am this evening :P


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thanks to my reviewers: Ac 3000 [sorry!], 101spacemonkey, Bonomania, Silver997, Norah, JWOHPfan, lifelesslyndsey and Loloshky! Reviews make my day brighter 3

Another chapter already. I'm procrastinating, but who cares :P

I can feel my lungs tighten and my thoughts begin to tumble, but I haven't got time for this right now. I'm probably late already. I really, _really_ want to smash my hand through something, but I can't afford to do anything else at the moment. I'll already be in enough trouble. So instead, I run. I have...Binns this period. I hope.

Luckily, I'm right. Unluckily, I am indeed late. I sneak in at the back without interrupting the drone that is already emanating from the front of the classroom, and slip into the seat Ron and Hermione have saved for me. I give them a quick grin to show my gratitude, but it is met by suspicion.

"Where _were_ you?" Hermione hisses."You're ten minutes late! And you were supposed to be coming to the Hall so we could walk down together!"

Shit, am I really? Time flies when you're having fun, I guess. "I'm sorry, I was..." Plausible excuse now please brain. "Snape kept me late, going on about stuff." _Liar_.

Ron snorts. It's a harsher sound than I would normally associate with him. Hermione is usually the scathing one. "Don't give us that crap, Harry."

"What? He did! I promise!" I might as well just go jump off North Tower now, the look they're both giving me.

Hermione's turn. "Harry, we saw him standing outside the Great Hall 5 minutes before classes even started."

Ron. "Which means you've been hanging around doing...something... for quarter of an hour, at least."

My day just gets better and better. "Okay, fine. I just wanted a little bit of time to myself, okay? I've been constantly watched for days. I just, y'know. Needed some time."

Ron's eyes soften a bit. "Sorry, mate. Paranoid."

Hermione's, however, are still narrowed. "So why did you lie to us, then?" she demands. "Why make out you were with Snape?"

Think, Potter. "I just...I'm not supposed to go anywhere alone at the moment."

"Yes, for a reason!" This last statement, in contrast to the rest of our reasonably hushed conversation, is loud enough to attract the attention of even Binns.

"Miss Grange!"

Hermione doesn't even look up. She's staring at me, eyes wide. "You did something," she states, slowly.

"No! Of course not!" I deny, with as much conviction as I can muster.

"You did! You're lying again!" She's practically screaming this time.

"Hermione, I didn't! Please, this isn't the time!" Everyone is looking, _staring_. Vultures. I can't see Binns any more.

She laughs, the sound carrying an edge of hysteria. "Not the time, _not the time_, he says!"

I open my mouth, but I don't know what to say. My eyes are burning, and my head is pounding even harder than it was in the bathroom. My lungs tighten, and I just don't know what do with myself.

As it turns out, that doesn't matter. Binns comes floating through the door, shortly followed by Madame Pomfrey. Not through the door, obviously. She opens it first. Guess that was where he went, then.

My thoughts are extraordinarily inane considering the amount of trouble I'm just about to be in. What if Snape pulls me out of class altogether? He threatened to if I caused any more trouble, after all. What if he decides I'm not worth the trouble and expels me? I eye the door. Pomfrey is otherwise occupied with calming down Hermione enough to persuade her to drink a calming draught. If I just inch towards the door like _this_, I can...

I dart out the door, and run. I have absolutely no idea where I am going, but that's not currently important. What's important is getting away. I consider my options. Room of Requirement? Too obvious. Forbidden Forest? Too many things that would happily eat me. Chamber of Slytherin? No. Shrieking Shack? Definitely not.

In the end, I end up just flinging myself into a broom cupboard. I know that as soon as Ron and Hermione check the Marauders' Map, they will know where I am, but still. It will give me a little time. My heart continues to race for a bit, but eventually it quietens, and I relax into the comforting darkness. I can almost fool myself that I'm back at the Dursley's in my cupboard, and term has started yet. Not that I want to be with the Dursleys, but still. The events of this term so far are making it a close run thing at the moment. At least I know where I stand at the Dursleys'. Well, most of the time, anyway.

Inevitably, my seclusion doesn't last long. Longer than I'd anticipated, though, so I can't complain. Count my blessings and all that. The sudden flooding of light into the small space causes me to screw up my eyes, which means I can't see who has come to extract me. I suppose I expected it to be Snape, because Dumbledore's cheerful suggestion that we "take a walk", surprises me. Trust him to act as if it's perfectly normal to come across people sitting in cupboards, though.

We walk in silence down to Snape's rooms, where the portrait lets us in, seemingly with no prompting from Dumbledore at all. Not that I can particularly bring myself to be bothered about this fact. What does bother me, however, is how he just strides in and sits down in Snape's armchair, as if he owns the place. I'm not so stupid as to say so, though, so I just stand there and study my shoes.

He instructs me to "sit, dear boy", so I do, perched on the edge of his sofa. I'm still not looking at him, but I can feel his infuriatingly twinkling eyes on me.

"So," he begins. He digs his hand into his pocket and brings out a small paper bag. He takes out a golden sweet for himself, then holds the bag out to me. "Lemon drop, my boy?"

I shake my head. There's some kind of faint irony in the situation, but I let it pass.

"So," he repeats. "Severus will be with us shortly, I just wanted a word with you first, Harry." He stands up and strides to the fireplace. "I, personally, believe it would be in your best interest to be transferred to a wonderful establishment called St Patheus'." He holds up his hand as if to forestall an outburst, but I wasn't actually going to say anything. What's the point when he'll send me wherever he wants anyway? "They have an _excellent_ unit there for people with - problems. Like yours."

He pauses. "However, Severus has bent my ear and persuaded me to let him have a few weeks with you. In light of this, I wish to inform you that I will placing some conditions on you remaining here. Firstly, that you will abide to the letter by any instructions Severus gives you. Secondly, that you will be escorted everywhere. Even to the - ehem - bathroom." I swear there's got to be laws against this. Do wizards have human rights acts?

He pulls a face. I think he's trying to look sorrowful, but he just looks like he's got wind. "Finally, that you will agree with me placing some spells on these rooms."

He looks at me expectantly. "What spells, Sir?" I enquire obediently.

"Ah. Well. They will prevent you from speaking anything but the truth." Is he fucking serious?? Oh. Apparently he is. "Well, Harry?" Like I've got a choice.

"Fine," I agree shortly.

He sighs, then smiles condescendingly. "Right. Well. Let's get started then, eh?" He draws his wand out of his sleeve and waves it in a complex-looking pattern, chanting some stuff under his breath. I swear he always adds in a couple of extra useless waves at the beginning, just to look more impressive.

Just as he is lowering his wand, Snape comes in, with a furrow between his brows. His eyes take in Dumbledore, then fly to me, then back to Dumbledore. Suddenly, he looks furious. His fists curl up at his sides and his lip curls a little. "Albus," he says. Coldly. Quietly.

Dumbledore's eyes widen almost imperceptibly. "Ah, Severus."

"I thought you said we would discuss this further before you took any action?" I don't think I've ever seen him quite so angry. It's kind of scary.

"I merely did what I thought was best. As is my right as headmaster of this institution." Dumbledore's tone has taken on a note of warning.

"So I see. I must admit to being rather tempted to tender my resignation to you, as you are indeed _headmaster of this institution_." Snape wouldn't resign over me. Would he?

"You go too far, Severus."

"No, _you_ go too far, Albus!" His semblance of control evaporates. "I am trying to help this boy! Who, let me remind you, used to be your favourite student! How am I supposed to do that when you thwart me at every turn?! I told you not to make Poppy remove his scars - you ignored me. I asked you to get Horace in to cover for me for a couple of weeks so I could maybe just about get somewhere near helping him within your ridiculous time frame that you enforced on us - you refused. And now I ask you not to shatter every possible ounce of trust I may have begun to build up with him by putting charms commonly used for tackling _juvenile delinquents_ on my quarters - you sneak behind my back to do it anyway!" His eyes are furious, and I think for a minute that he's going to hit out.

He doesn't. He just watches as Dumbledore makes his excuses and hurries out muttering about "what I thought best" and "for the greater good". Then he throws his hands in the air. "He always does this, he _always does this!" _He stares into the fireplace for a long moment, visibly calming himself down. The he looks over to me. "I apologise," he tells me. "I cannot remove the spell, it's time limited. It'll wear off in a few weeks." He sighs, and wipes a hand over his face wearily. "It doesn't force you to speak if you don't want to. Just forces you to tell the truth if you do talk. _Just." _He sneers at the door that Dumbledore walked out of.

He waves his hand around vaguely. "It's commonly used for young offenders who have committed serious crimes and won't confess." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I would suggest we used another room to talk in, but I don't trust any other location to be completely private. Albus knows this, that's why he did it. He knew it would put me in an impossible situation which would force me to do things his way."

There is a long silence, and then; "Harry." Cautiously. "I'm sorry to have to do this, but...Myrtle came to see me earlier."

A/N: Omg I'm so evil. I apologise for all the cliffhangers, but they're so fun! Anyway, you've got no complaints after such an extra long chapter :P

Please read and review. You know it makes my day :D


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry for the slower update again. Thanks and hugs to my reviewers: CrimsonRose18, Twilightfan21, Silver997, StarDuchess, JWOHPfan [well about 500 words longer than average, anyway :P], angel74, supergirl3684, witherwings1972, MoonLuvr, _inrainbows88, Norah, The Dagdah's Priestess, 101spacemonkey, My-Musings [good to see you back ^_^] and lifelesslyndsey!

A/N 2: I've just got to warn you, I am probably now going to be the worst updater ever until the end of January. Exams and uni interviews . Sorry!

-

"She's not lying!" I burst out. What? That wasn't supposed to come out that way. _Shit_. I'm so stupid. I can't even remember from one minute to the next that I can't lie in here any more. How difficult is that to understand, Potter? Just keep your fucking mouth shut!

Snape nods, and his lips twist. "I appreciate that this is difficult for you. We can reconvene later on if you prefer?"

"What's the fucking point in that?" I demand, harshly. "It'll still be the fucking same. Still won't be able to open my mouth without the truth pouring out, still won't be able to keep it closed without you knowing the fucking truth anyway!" l can't lie any more. I can't use damage limitation to get myself out of this. So, I'll go. I'll _make_ him send me away. I'll be so fucking unbearable, that he won't be able to _not_ send me. I'll get him angry, and he'll drag me to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore will send me to the nut house. He wants to already, I know that. I will not stay. I will not let myself be allowed to stay. I'll not burden someone else until they despise me so much they have to resort to trying to beat out my freakishness. I've played that game before.

But...

He doesn't look angry. He doesn't look like he should, given that I've just been interminably rude, and thrown his understanding back in his face. When he speaks, his voice is still quiet. Calm. Not the deadly calm that he used with Dumbledore, either. _Understanding_ calm. All he says is "true." The only undercurrent in his voice is sadness.

Why isn't he mad? _Why isn't he mad??_

"How about this," he says. He's not even fucking reproachful! "I won't speak at all. I won't ask any questions, make any comments, nothing. Unless, of course, you ask me to. You lead the way. Tell me whatever you want. Whatever you don't tell me, I don't know." It's a nice suggestion. Thoughtful. It makes my heart twist in my chest. So, obviously, I rage against it.

At least, I try to. "Fuck off", instead comes out as; "Why are you _doing_ this??", and "Leave me alone" as "Why do you keep pretending?"

His brow furrows, like he doesn't know what I'm talking about. Ha. "Pretending about what, Harry?"

I can't hear that voice any more. That calm, _concerned, FAKEFAKEFAKE _voice. I'll go mad. I feel my hands clamp over my ears, my eyes screw shut, my legs fold up to my chest, my arms wrap round.

I hear an animalistic howl, pure anguish. And somewhere in the back of my consciousness, I wonder why someone doesn't help it, this animal that is so obviously in pain, so tormented that it has pierced through my own tumultuous anger and hurt, that I have held inside for so long. I want to go and hold it, to tell it that it doesn't matter, that none of it matters. I want someone to hold _me_. To tell_ me _those pretty lies.

And then I realise the truth. Those tormented cries?

They were mine.

-

I don't remember passing out, for what seems like the 100th time in the longest few days I've ever lived, but I suppose I must have done.

Because when I wake up, it is to the pristine whiteness of the starched hospital bed sheets I have become so familiar with, to the faintly disinfectant-like smell of hospital sterilising charms. I close my eyes and wait for the familiar tones of Madame Pomfrey, bustling about like an old mother hen.

But they never come.

Instead, a fakely cheerful voice that I do not recognise informs me that, "You're awaaake, duck!"

I am not a duck. I do not need someone to tell me that I am awake. Who the hell is this, and where the hell am I?

Apparently, this new voice belongs to a master of legilimency. Or just someone who doesn't like shutting up. "You're at St Patheus'." Tongue-cluck. "Mr Dummmbledore brought you in. Quite the temper you must have, duck! Almost melted poooooor Mr Snape and his quarters clear down, the way Mr Dumbledore tells it! Anywhooooo, listen to me, blathering on, duck!"

Good. Please tell me that's him finished. Wait, what did he mean, nearly melted Snape and his quarters down? I hurt Snape? Badly? Jesus Christ, Potter. You fucking bastard. What have you done this time, you pathetic freak? I open my mouth to ask the chatty ducker about Snape, but he's gone. I sit up and try to haul myself out of bed, but I can't. Instead of my feet hitting the floor, they hit what seems to be an invisible metal block at the side of my bed. I try the other side with the same result.

"Ohhhh, I wouldn't try that, duck." Ah. He's back. "Didn't I tell you? Oh silly old me, must've slipped my mind. You can't get out of therrrre. Not unless someone on the outside tellllls you so."

I feel about 2 years old.

"Anywhooooo. I've just got a few questions for you, duck." He holds up a quill and a piece of parchment. "Soooo, just a few things I like to know, duck. The psychiatrist will be 'round later to ask you all the official things!" Please just get on with it so I can ask about Snape.

"Do you feel suiciiiiidal at all, currently?"

What the fuck? "No," I reply, shortly. Like I'd tell him anyway.

"Awhhhhhhhhhkay." Does he actually sound disappointed? "How about homicidalllll?"

I will be if he doesn't shut up. "No."

"Are you suuure, duck?"

"Yes I'm sure."

"Well if you're sure. You are suuuuuure you're sure?"

Which is why, when the psychiatrist walked through the door, I was shouting "I'M NOT FUCKING HOMICIDAL, ALRIGHT?!?"

That's sure to get me a quick discharge.

-

A/N: Bit OTT, I fear. I tried to balance out the heavier first section with a more lighthearted second section, but it probably didn't come off like I wanted it to.

And it's too short again.

I actually genuinely know someone who's quite a lot like that psychiatric nurse in real life, drawn out words, ducks, anywhos and all. Although he's not a psychiatric nurse :P

Please R&R.

Also, cos I might not be around for a bit I'll just reassure that Snape's okay, and he's probably shouting at Albus right about........now :D

I'll go now.


	12. Chapter 12

Three days later, and I still haven't seen hide nor hair of Snape, or Dumbledore, or anyone really. Well, except Nurse Duck and the shrink. And they won't even tell me what I did to Snape. Don't want to tell me in case it "distresses" me. Like that makes any kind of sense. I'm more distressed thinking. Having to imagine how I might have fucked up this time.

"Morrrning duck!" Oh god. He's got his trill on. "How arrrrre we this morrrning?"

It's rhetoric, but that doesn't stop me wanting to tell him that I'd be better if he'd shut up. And that I have no idea how he is. I open my mouth to ask him about Snape again, but he gets in there first.

"Dearrrrie me, what can be going on out there? And at this time of morning, too!"

I wonder what he's talking about, but then it suddenly dawns on me that, actually, there is a lot of shouting going on in the corridor outside. I mean, don't get me wrong. There's plenty of shouting goes on here. But this doesn't sound like the regular shouting. This sounds like...Snape?? Yelling, like I've rarely heard him yell before.

He's here? I sit up a little in anticipation.

Words float into the room, words like 'patient confidentiality', and 'Albus', and 'the fucking Prophet'. This better not mean what I think it means. I turn to Nurse Duck. Who gulps visibly and mutters something about 'going to ask them to keep the noise down'. He sidles towards the door, and grabs the door handle. And is almost knocked off his feet by Snape charging into the room, followed by my shrink. He flashes a tight smile my way, and then, before I can return it, pins my favourite psychiatric nurse up against the wall.

Unfortunately, before Snape gets in more than a couple of punches, security turn up and manage to get Snape off of him for long enough to let him scurry away, without so much as a 'duck'. The shrink goes after him, after shooting a worried look at Snape. The guards look between the two of us, take in Snape's now neutralised expression, shrug, and leave.

So it's just us.

He draws a chair up to the side of my bed and sits down. There is an awkward silence, and then we both start talking at once. "So," he starts.

"Please sir," I burst out. We both stop. He gestures for me to go ahead first. "Are you alright, sir?" I ask, almost frantically. "They told me that you were...that I hurt you. But they wouldn't tell me..." I trail off, feeling foolish but not really knowing why.

"Idiots," he murmurs with a certain vehemence, almost under his breath. "I'm fine, Harry. You merely had a short burst of accidental magic. No harm done. Just a couple of bruises to me and the walls. Easily corrected."

A nagging feeling tells me it was more than that, but I can't very well call him a liar when I don't know for sure. "I'm sorry, sir. For. Y'know. Going psycho on you like I did."

He frowns. "You didn't _go psycho_ on me, Harry. But completely unnecessary apology accepted." He pauses, and I can hear Mr Dominis over the corridor complaining to somebody that someone had stolen his crown and sceptre again, and didn't they know who he is? Then Snape clears his throat. "Harry, I-. I have something I need to tell you. Well. Uhm. That is to say, well. Two things really."

Two things? I mean, the fucking Prophet was clue to the first thing, but what? And to get him so uncomfortable. He seems to need some encouragement, so I kindof half shrug, half nod, like an idiot.

"Well. You probably gathered from the...commotion...outside that Nurse _Graham_ informed the Prophet of your stay here." His best sneer.

Nurse Graham? Ohh, Duck. I continue to stave off the impact of this news. That the _whole wizarding world_, knows just what a fucking psycho their little _hero_ is. Clear your mind, Potter. Somewhere along the line I must have shut my eyes _tight_, because I have to make a concerted effort to open them again and fix them on Snape. Right. News piece two.

He clears his throat again. "Right. So." He visibly pulls himself together, then continues, almost...defensively? "I apologise for taking this step without consulting you, but it had to be taken with haste. The Minister was already initiating steps to get you taken under ministry custody when I came round." Bruises, right. I guess I was right after all. How thick are you, Potter? Everyone lies, you stupid baby. You really thought he was going to be different? Just wait. "-hope you appreciate it was for your protection."

"What?" I ask, Dudley-ish. Good job, freak.

"The guardianship!"

Shit what. Guardianship?? Damnit my mind does not like where this is going. "So...you're my guardian now?" I guess.

"I'm afraid so," he replies tightly, his lips twisted. Great, so now I've offended him.

"Um. Thanks, Sir?"

He rolls his eyes, seemingly a little appeased. "Come on, Harry."

My mind is rolling as I climb cautiously out the bed (I can do that now?) and follow him out of the hospital. We're leaving?

I numbly register him taking my arm and saying something that I can't make sense of, then we lurch forward. I don't understand the white blobs floating through the air, and I can't breathe, and I don't know where this is, but it's not fucking Hogwarts, and I can't hear anything but a giant whoosh inside my ears, and my legs won't work anymore and I'm on the ground and whatthefuckisgoingon.

But then; my palms can feel something solid beneath them, and my shoulder can feel the warm weight resting on it, and a voice breaks through the whoosh, telling me that it is Severus and that I am safe and that I can feel the ground beneath my palms, that it is slightly damp because it is snowing, you feel that? And then I realise that I am freezing cold, kneeling on the concrete outside a small house, and that Sever- where did that come from, _Professor Snape_ is kneeling beside me.

He eases me up and takes me inside the house, through a slightly cramped corridor, and sits me down.

It seems like forever, but at the same time hardly any time at all, until he speaks. "Harry." Softly.

I can't look up, can't raise my eyes to meet his when I've just humiliated myself in front of him again. Especially when I know that the thoughts and fears that I have harboured from the hospital room to here are spinning at the forefront of my mind still, so clearly that I'm sure he will be able to see them the moment I look up, even without legilimency.

"Harry, there aren't any charms here. I can't force you to speak, or to speak the truth, but I think it would help, help us both, if you could tell me what precipitated that attack."

Visions swim in my mind, and I purse my mouth shut and shake my head a little.

He sighs. "Alright. I won't force you to. Think about it though." I see him straighten up out of the corner of my eye, and realise that he must have been kneeling by my chair the entire time. "This is my house. You'll be staying here for the Christmas holidays, I'm afraid. If you just hang around in here for a bit, I'll make us some lunch, and then I'll show you around. Toilet's at the end of the hall if you want it." With that, he leaves.

After a minute or so, I look around the room. Plain cream walls, mostly concealed by bookcases filled to bursting with books. A fireplace, wooden floorboards, a bluish rug. I stand up and walk over to the fireplace, which has one picture on the ledge above it, centred precisely. It is a picture of a woman, pale and raven-haired, sitting on a wooden chair in an otherwise bare room. I almost expect it to start moving, as is the norm for wizarding pictures. But she stays put, kind-looking blue eyes staring out blankly. I study it more, noticing the way her hands are folded demurely on her lap, her dress.

Then, just as I notice a slight shadow peeping out at her neck which may or may not be a bruise, a voice behind me says softly, "My mother."

I jump, spinning around guiltily. Waiting for the reprimand that is sure to come for snooping. When it doesn't come, I chance a quick glance up at his face. Which is staring at the photograph, a wistful look in his eyes.

"She was beautiful. Kind," he tells the picture. Then turns his attention to me. "And extremely clever." A finger stretches out and brushes over the picture. "But also very, very naïve."

He turns away abruptly and hands me a nutritive potion. I take it, but don't drink it. To my surprise he doesn't say anything, just gesture for me to follow him.

In the kitchen, he grabs a plate of two quartered sandwiches of the side and puts them at the small wooden table. Then he sits down and asks me to do the same. He picks up a piece of sandwich, and holds it to his mouth, and then lowers it, just holding on to it.

"She died in the summer after my fifth year at Hogwarts," he tells me. "Six months after my grandmother. I lived alone with my father after that."

I don't know what to say, so I just stare at the sandwich he is shredding in his hands.

"I thought for the longest time that it was my fault she died. See, I'd come home to find that she wasn't well, and I thought that if my father beat her even one more time she probably wouldn't be able to take it. So I quickly started pouring his alcohol down the sink. I figured that if he wouldn't get drunk, he wouldn't get angry, and then he wouldn't hit her. At the least, I thought, he would be angry enough with me to take his mind off her for a while. But when he came in and saw what I was doing, and started in on me, my mother appeared, and then they started fighting, and I tried to help but I was only 15 and not very strong, and the next thing I knew she was falling. And there was nothing I could do to revive her."

He makes a noise which could almost be a small laugh if it wasn't so sad. "Of course, it turned out that my mother was staying with a friend, and she'd only gone back to my father's house first to pick up a few things that she hadn't got out before. And so I had a terrible summer, goading my father into hitting me when he wasn't, to punish me for effectively killing my mother. And when I got back to Hogwarts, I told Lucius that I wanted an audience with the Dark Lord."

He sighs and banishes the wrecked sandwich quarter. Then he picks another and looks at me. "My point is, Harry, that my guilt was misplaced. It wasn't my fault that my mother died. Oh, I might have triggered it to happen then rather than in the future somewhere, by rushing in without the facts, but I thought I was helping her, even though it wasn't my responsibility, and my father killed my mother, and I couldn't have stopped him. And the self-destruction I fell into was unnecessary.

"And, well. It applies to you, too. You may have rushed into the Ministry last year without all the facts, but you thought you were saving your Godfather, even though it wasn't your responsibility. But it was his choice to go and try and save you, his _responsibility_, even, the same as it was with my mother. And Bellatrix Lestrange killed him, and _you couldn't have stopped her_. Your impulsiveness may have precipitated his death on that particular night, but I can almost guarantee that it would have happened on another day in another battle anyway.

"And it doesn't make it easier, I know that, but you have to recognise that it _was not your fault_. Because, Harry, until you recognise that, it doesn't matter what we do here, it _will not stop_. Even if we manage to make you stop hurting yourself, stop making you starve yourself, you will either just be doing it to please someone else and so not be happy not doing it, or you will just channel your destructive energy somewhere else, either into something like alcoholism or drugs, or onto other people."

He stands up, taking two more sandwich pieces with him, and walks towards the door. I feel his hand rest lightly on my head for a moment, warm and comforting. The prickle in my eyes gives way to tears, beading up and threatening to fall. "Drink your potion, try to eat a piece of sandwich if you can, take your time. Throw things if you need to. Think about what I said. I'll be in the sitting room, when you are ready come back into there, and we'll go from there, alright? We won't have to talk if you don't want to, just whatever you want."

The hand leaves my hair and I hear the door knob turn, but then he hesitates, like he wants to say something, but at the same time he is reluctant to. At last he speaks. "I would obviously much rather you didn't, but if you really feel you must harm yourself and you do not feel you can come to me, I would just like to make you aware that anything you do will only be able to cause a very small amount of injury, in any part of this house. It is not there to patronise you, but rather a necessary precaution that I had installed when I bought this house, and not one I am currently inclined to dispose of." Then he leaves, closing the door behind him.

_Jesus fucking Christ_.

A/N: Well. Another chapter, sorry for the delay. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I'm in rather a hurry now so haven't really got time to name you all like I have been, but you're all stars and you know who you are :D

I hope you like it. I think it's probably my longest chapter yet, by quite a bit! I think the bit where Snape is talking about his mum is a bit heavy and not the best organised piece of writing ever, but I figured that he probably wouldn't be at his best whilst talking about that, so I left it alone. Oh, and just a quick warning that the next few chapters are probably going to be pretty heavy as well, because we're about to get into some proper talking through his issues bits. Tell me if you think I'm going too fast(/slow)!

Review if you get the time. I'll try and get another update done before the New Year, but just in case I don't, Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year to you all!


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Hey. I hope you all had an awesome Christmas and New Year. Sorry about the updating situation. Thank you so much for your reviews, everyone. I can't believe I'm nearly at 100! You're all amazing, and I'm sorry I'm too lazy to list you all again, but I really do honestly appreciate it.

-

I stare the door. I just...

I don't understand why he would tell me that. Something so personal, so obviously painful. And I don't understand how he can possibly compare the two. What he did...what he did was brave. Noble. He tried to save his mum by turning the focus on himself. I dragged Sirius into a dangerous situation because I was too stupid to listen and focus and work and trust and check out that the situation was what it seemed before I went rushing in to try and save the fucking day. Just for the sake of my stupid ego. He was just a boy in a horrible situation. I am a fool and a goddamned fucking _murderer_.

My decision is made. I uncork the vial and walk to the sink, pour it straight down the plug hole. I put the vial down on the table and pick up the sandwiches, which I squeeze until they are compacted as much as possible, to an almost dough-like state, then take off my shoes and push them into the toes. I'll dispose of them later.

When I am finished, I put my shoes back on, tie the laces. Dip my finger into the little pool of pickle left on the plate and smear it by the side of my mouth. Feeling it seeping into my pores, I do 30 squats, catch my breath, straighten my jumper, and walk out of the room.

Before I enter the living room, I pause. I feel horrible. Not physically, although my head is beginning to swim a little and my legs are less then absolutely steady beneath me. Those feelings do not bother me. They are familiar. No, I feel horrible for lying. Throwing away the help that he is trying to give me. Proving further, beyond any question of doubt, that I am an awful, awful person. A worthless little freak, just like the Dursleys always said.

I knock. Footsteps. The door opens. He gestures me inside, and into a chair. I sit, and he lowers himself into the chair opposite. He stares at me for a minute, then says one word. "Pickle."

Okay. So he's noticed. He conjures a tissue and passes it to me. I take it with a nod of thanks, and swipe at my mouth with it. I wipe the opposite side first, then the other. Look at him.

He nods his head, and I crumple the tissue in my hand. "The potion?" he asks. I nod. "Good. Good."

I want to sigh with relief. He doesn't seem to suspect anything.

"So, I'd imagine you have questions?" he asks tensely.

Huh? Oh. Guardianship. Right. "No, sir. Not really," I reply. Liar.

"Right." He puts a hand to his mouth and surveys me over the top of it. "Right," he repeats. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Anything you need to tell me about what happened in the kitchen?"

He means the cutting myself up bit, right? He can't know about the potion. It's impossible. And even if he suspects, he can't prove anything. Well, maybe the potion, but not the sandwich. "No, sir. I didn't do anything, sir. Except take my potion and eat my sandwich. Sir."

He keeps looking at me. "How was the sandwich?"

He can't. "It was alright, sir." Think. More information. Make it believable, Potter. "I, um, I don't like pickle much, sir, but it was fine, thank you, sir."

"Stop saying that!" He almost barks it at me, like in class. Although, even through my confusion over the sudden subject change and what 'that' is, I can hear that it's not as sharp. Irritation rather than complete disgust. I must look blank, because he sighs, and says, "Sir. You don't have to say it after every sentence, Harry. I can't remember if I already told you or not, but you may call me Severus." He clears his throat. "I'd like you to call me Severus."

I look away awkwardly.

There is a long silence, and then:

"Harry." I look up. He runs a hand wearily over his face and looks at me seriously. "There was no pickle in your sandwich."

I close my eyes. _Fool_. I want to be angry with him for tricking me. I want to be. But I'm not. I just can't muster it up. I just feel very tired.

"This can't continue, Harry. You can't keep lying to me. And you can't keep not eating." I turn my face away, and keep my eyes closed tight. I don't want to hear this. "If this continues you're going to have to go on a drip just to keep you alive. Look at you." He gestures a hand helplessly. "Your hair is falling out, your nails are discoloured, I can see almost every bone on you. I'm not lying to you, Harry. If you keep this up, you are going to die. Who is that going to help?"

I can't take it any more. "I'm not going to die!" I burst out. "I know what I'm doing, alright?!"

He shakes his head. "You don't. I don't say that to disrespect you, but you have to understand. If you're above 80, 90 pounds I'd be very surprised. You're not eating. You're throwing up, injuring yourself. You need to listen to me, damn it."

I squeeze my eyes shut again, press my hands over my ears, bring my knees up to my chest. I will not hear this. I won't. I won't listen to it. I won't. I won't. He doesn't know what he's talking about. He doesn't know a damn thing.

I can hear him, still talking. It's muffled, but it's still there.

"Doing this won't bring them back, Harry. None of them. You can't trade your life for theirs, no matter how much you might wish you could." He has moved closer. "You won't bring back Sirius, Harry."

I can't deal with this. I can feel the magic rushing up inside of me again, I can feel what will happen if I don't get the hell away right now. So I do what I do best.

I run away.

-

I don't even bother trying the front door, I know, even in this state, that it will be locked, warded. I run up stairs, run down a hallway. Pick a door, open it, shut it. Lean against it and finally let myself stop. My legs give way and I let myself slide down into a crouching position and bury my head in my knees. My heart is pounding so loud I could swear Snape will be able to hear it, my head throbs. A dry sob forces it up past my throat, out my mouth. I shove my hand into my mouth and bite, to stop any more coming.

I can hear Snape outside, throwing doors open and slamming them shut. I know I don't have long. I try to collect my thoughts, to think of a plan. I wonder if I could focus my magic to disillusion me, just to give me some time. I begin to try, ignoring the still racing pulse of my heart in my chest, when;

"Who the ruddy hell are you?"

-

A/N: Right. I hope you're okay with the direction this is about to take. I mean, I know you don't really know what direction that is yet, but this idea just won't leave me alone, and I feel like I might be able to get to a breakthrough for Harry sooner with this, because I'm sortof struggling with making that happen for him at the moment. I sound ridiculous, I'll shut up.

Anyway. I hope you liked it, and I hope you'll all continue to review. I'll try and get it updated soonish. I've got stuff on, as I said before, but asap

See if you can guess who/what it is :P


	14. Chapter 14

My head shoots up. I scan the room, and my eyes fall on a lone figure in the corner. A man is standing up from a chair, and I jump to my feet as he comes towards me. He is a lot taller and broader than me, and, frankly, I am scared. I fumble for the doorknob as he looms over me.

It won't open. I twist and turn and push and pull, and it won't fucking _open_.

"Boy?" He stares at me, hard. It's ridiculous how that one stupid word can make me flinch. I take to pounding on the door, wishing Snape would just come here _now_. "Who are you, boy?"

He puts a huge hand on my shoulder, grips it too tight, shakes. "Well?!"

Where are you, Snape? My eyes find a window on the far side of the room, and I try to inch towards it. My heart is pounding even louder than it was before, my mouth is dry. I can't answer this man, or tell him to get the fuck off and let me out, because I can barely breathe, let alone _speak_.

His grip tightens as I try to move away. "You look fair set to faint, boy. What's ruddy wrong-"

He breaks off as the door flies open, Snape appears in the doorway, eyes wild. Thank _God_. He looks at the two of us, and his eyes narrow. "Get your _fucking_ hands off of him," he spits.

The man looks between me and Snape, then down at his hand on my shoulder. He slowly releases me, and Snape pulls me behind him, out of the room. He opens his mouth again, then seems to decide against it, and just slams the door. He looks at me intently. "Are you alright?" he inquires.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out, and I just move my head in a sort of circle. My head is in a mess again. Who is this man? Why is he in Snape's house if Snape hates him as much as it sounds like he does?

He looks at the door, and then back at me. He sighs. "So. Um. I suppose there's no point in me asking you to avoid that room anymore." Another sigh. "He's- That is- I suppose-"

I don't think I've ever seen him so uncomfortable. He looks a bit like Neville does when he's asked a question in class. Poor Nev.

He clicks his tongue in exasperation. At himself, I suppose. "My father, Harry. He is my father."

Suddenly, absurdly, I think of a line from a television programme that I overheard Dudley watching once; 'Does not compute.' I laugh and laugh. I cannot stop.

Snape, who, having secured the door to _the_ room, is leading me, laughing hysterically, down the hallway. He opens a door and shows me inside. I am still laughing, so much so that tears are rolling down my cheeks. So much that my stomach and chest hurt. I stick out my tongue to catch a tear, tasting the salty wetness, and I laugh even harder.

And then I decide that it's decidedly not funny, and abruptly stop.

Snape seems disconcerted by the sudden change in my demeanour. He takes advantage of my composure to tell me that this is "Your room."

I look around. There's a fair-sized bed, cream walls, a dark blue rug on the polished floorboards, solid-looking furniture, including a good-sized wardrobe. It's nice. So I tell him so. He looks pleased.

I want to ask him about the man, his father. But I know it's not my place. He has no obligation to explain it to me.

He's staring at me again. "I'm sorry," he says. For what I can't imagine, so I keep silent. "I should have warned you about h- about that room."

I went barging around his house without his permission and he's sorry? I might as well give up trying to understand this man.

"It's warded. So that you can't open the door from the inside." He pauses. "So my father can't open the door from the inside." He glances at me. "He's...not well."

How can he have him in the house? "Oh," I say.

I think he takes this as a question, because he continues. "Dementia. A house elf attends to him most of the time." He quirks his lips up. "How much he hates that in his more lucid moments almost makes up for having him here."

He looks at me and sighs, seemingly hearing my unasked question. "You must understand, Harry, I've done much worse in my service of the Dark Lord. I may have never directly killed anyone, but I was his Potion's Master. I worked for 4 years before he tried to kill you, trying to create potions for him that could maim, torture, _kill_." His voice is tinged with self-disgust. "I have stood by and seen things done to defenceless innocents by my creations. When Albus informed me that my father was ill, had nowhere else to go-" He shrugs a shoulder. "I could hardly take the moral high-ground and refuse to take him in, could I?"

I gape at him. I don't know whether to be angry with him for being a fucking hypocrite, or angry with Dumbledore for having obviously pressured Se-nape into doing this. I decide that the first makes me more angry right now. "How can you stand there and _say _that?" I demand, incredulous.

He looks taken aback. "Sorry?"

"Oh what, so I'm not allowed to _self-destruct_," I sneer, "but you, you can just stand there and justify your little self-flagellation party to yourself because _you've done worse_?"

"Harry, it's hardly the sa-"

I cut him off. "It is the same! It is the fucking same! Is that what the charms are for, on the house? Making sure that when you see your father, and you go off to remember every wrong you ever might have had a part in, you don't cut too deep, or what?!"

"Harry, you are out of line right now," he states sternly.

I know I am. Inside my head a voice is telling me to shut up before he decides that he's had enough of my shit. But I can't help but interject "you don't deny it then?" before his glare quells me into silence.

He just stares at me. Before long, I look away shamefaced. "'M sorry," I mutter. "I didn't mean it. 'M sorry."

He doesn't say anything. What if this is it? What if my latest proof of my fucking..._shitness_ has got through to him? And he's realised that I'm not worth the trouble. What if he's working out how to tell me that he's had enough, I'm going back to Nurse Duck. Maybe he's deciding whether they'd notice if he hit me. Maybe he-

"Harry. Harry!"

Oh. Good job on ignoring him, freak. He's sure to change his mind and want to keep you now, isn't he?

He has a little furrow in his brow and his hand on my shoulder. "Harry?"

"Y'ssir?"

The furrow deepens a little. "Don't-. Are you-." He shakes his head a little. "It's not a big deal, Harry. You've had a stressful day, and you have every right to feel angry about things. To feel angry with me."

"'Mnot-" I start to protest.

His voice hardens, just a little. "Don't treat me like a fool, Harry. You made your feelings perfectly clear on the subject not one minute ago." Belatedly, he adds, "Justifiably."

"Didn't mean it."

"Please, Harry. It's fine." He clears his throat. "About the charms on the house. They're not...I don't."

"'M sorry." I really didn't mean to say that, to accuse him of that. At least, I don't think I did.

He ignores this. "It's a generalised damage limiting charm. I had it installed primarily due to my father's predilection for violence. It prevents any variety of direct physical violence from causing too much harm." He lends a slight emphasis to 'direct'. I think I'm supposed to pick up a message from that, but if I am, it got lost in transit.

He continues. "Meaning that he cannot hurt you, beyond a slight bruise at most. Neither you me or me you," he adds, like an afterthought.

A tension that I didn't even really know I had releases.

His eyes narrow a little. "Surely you didn't think-." I look away. "Harry-. I wouldn't...have I ever given you that impression?" He looks...I don't know. Upset, I guess.

"I didn't mean it like that," I hasten to reassure him. "I know you're not like that, I do." He looks sceptical. "I do!" And I do. I know he wouldn't hit, say, Ron. Or Neville, even.

But me? He wouldn't mean to, I'm sure. But I do things. I provoke people. I want to explain it to him, but I can't. Not without it coming out wrong. "I do," I repeat again, softer.

"Why then?" he asks, bewilderedly. "Why would you worry about that?"

I shrug.

"Would you be happier staying with someone else?" he demands suddenly. "Minerva, perhaps?"

I shake my head vehemently. "Please-." My voice cracks. "_I do_. I _swear_."

"Harry, I don't understand. Help me understand?" He sounds lost.

"I-." C_an't_.

"_Harry,_" he whispers. And just like that, I think I might be able to. Tell him, that is.

I open my mouth. The hope on his face is almost tangible, and I really, really don't want to disappoint him this time.

I think I really would have told him, too, if it wasn't for Dumbledore's clear, cheery tones coming pouring into the room. "Severus! Harry! There you are!"

I swear Snape's face falls for a second before he pulls on his regular mask. "Headmaster," he replies, polite as anything. "What can we do for you?"

"Severus," Dumbledore chides. "How many times do I have to remind you to call me Albus?"

Eyebrow.

"Ahh, very well, my boy. Straight to the point. I just popped in to see how things were going."

Straight to the point. Right.

"Fine," Snape replies shortly. "Is that all, Albus? This really isn't the best time."

"Right. Of course, my boy. Yes. Do you think you could excuse us for a moment? I just wanted to have a quick word with young Harry here."

Snape looks at me. I plead with him with my eyes, and shake my head as imperceptibly as I can.

"I'm sure whatever you've got to say to him can be said in front of me, Albus," he stipulates stiffly.

"Severus, really, I only want to talk to him."

"Forgive me for not being too eager to leave my-" he flounders "-Harry alone with you, considering that last time you were alone with him you manipulated him into accepting highly invasive anti-privacy charms! Which, may I remind you, led to a breakdown, which you used as an excuse to break our agreement and bundle him off to some ridiculous, worthless excuse for a psychiatric institution!" he shoots back.

"Severus-"

"No." Firmly. Finally. "And whilst we're talking, Albus, I do not appreciate you abusing your access to my floo connection!"

"Of course. My apologies, Severus." He looks grave. "Are you absolutely decided?" he adds, hopefully.

Well, you've got to admire the man's audacity I guess. Severus just looks at him.

"I suppose so. Well, good luck then, boys. Must dash." And, just like that, he leaves.

We stay silent for a moment, then the floo whooshes and breaks the atmosphere.

He just shakes his head. "That man."

Which says it all, really.

-

Sorry for the horrendously long absence. I've tried to make the chapter extra long to make up for it a bit. I hope it's okay. It's a pretty uneventful chapter, I know. I haven't proof-read it, so I hope it's not horrendous. I'm still not sure about where I've taken it in the chapter (with Tobias etc.), so I really hope you think it's alright. I'll try and update sooner this time, I've not got so much to do now so if I don't it'll just be because I'm lazy


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: I apologise for not thanking reviewers last chapter, I can't believe I forgot. Thank you all :D I realised today that I've somehow got over a hundred reviews, which is just, yeah, wow! So thank you. This is the longest thing I've ever written, so it's really gratifying to have all the support you guys have given me on it :)

-

After Dumbledore's surprise visit yesterday, Snape seemed to recognise that the moment was lost.

But today, he seems to have decided that he'd better get the whole therapy rubbish going.

Which is why we're sitting having an argument of sorts in his living room.

"Come on, Harry, just humour me," Snape cajoles.

This is the most pointless exercise ever. Honestly. I won't do it. I shake my head firmly.

I _can't_ do it.

"Alright, then. _I _will do it."

This is ridiculous. Ridiculous.

"People who love Harry," he says as he writes it down on the parchment he was brandishing at me a moment ago. "Hermione Granger. Ronald Weasley."

I turn my face from him, uncomfortable.

"Arthur Weasley. Molly Weasley." He stops. "Why does this upset you so much, Harry?"

"It doesn't upset me!" I retort angrily.

"You say that, but it clearly does," he replies calmly. "The mere suggestion of such an activity distressed you. Why?"

I shrug. "'Doesn't. 'S just stupid," I deny sullenly.

He raises an eyebrow. "Stupid?"

"Yeah." Defiant.

"May I ask why you think that?"

"Just is. No-." Don't go there. "Pointless."

"If you truly believed that, you would do it quickly and have it over with. I've been teaching teenagers for years, Harry." The eyebrow creeps a little higher. I hadn't thought it was possible.

"Fine!" I half-shout. I lower my voice. "I'll do it then. But it's pointless."

He ignores my rudeness and my repeated judgement of the task, and hands me a clean piece of parchment and a quill. "Thank you," he says simply.

I stare at the parchment. Bring the nib of the quill to it. _I can't do it_.

Don't be stupid Potter. You know what he wants you to write, so write it.

I move the quill. Form the letters to make 'Hermione' and 'the Weasleys'. That's okay. I can do that. Hell, I can almost make myself believe that if I try hard enough. But then I'm stuck. I look up through my fringe.

He's watching me.

I look down hastily. Just write some names down, freak. Any names. 'Remus', I write. There. That's believable.

And then I cross it out.

I write it again. This time I scribble it out so ferociously that I tear the page.

There is no way Remus loves me. No fucking way.

Even if he _had_, even if he had thought he might _like_ me a little, he can't any longer. I _killed_ his best friend, for fuck's sake. If I can't forgive myself, who had only known Sirius for a little over a year, how can I possibly pretend that Remus might have forgiven me. Remus, who had known Sirius for years.

_Sirius_. Another name I can't put on Snape's fucking list.

Who am I trying to kid? Nobody could love a murderer. I strike through Hermione and the Weasleys and throw the quill across the room. "I can't fucking do it, okay! Is that what you wanted to hear, Snape?! I can't do it! Nobody fucking loves me, you made your fucking point!"

He sighs heavily. "Harry, my 'fucking point', as you put it, was to make you realise how many people _do_ love you."He gesticulates hopelessly with his hand. "The fact that you so blatantly don't see it worries me. People do love you Harry. Lots of people do."

I can't help it. I scoff.

"They do!" he insists.

I've had enough. I really, really want to cut. I just want out of here. "Look, I appreciate that you're trying to make me feel better or whatever, but it's not -. It's just-. This just isn't, okay?" I'm trying for a calm, mature tone. I'm not 'distressed' about this, or whatever other crap he thinks, I just don't need it.

"But-," he starts. Then he takes a deep breath. "Fine," he says. "Fine. I'll drop it.."

I smile. Thank god for that.

"_If_," he adds hastily, "you agree to do something else instead."

My face falls a bit. "Something else?" I repeat. What kind of something else?

"Yes," he confirms. "You can talk with me about this, or you can play a game with me."

"A game," I parrot, suspiciously. What is he up to? It's funny, actually, to think that it's not impossible to think of Snape playing a game now. Although I hardly suspect he has Snakes and Ladders in mind here.

"Yes." He hesitates. "We take it turns to think of an option-based question. Then both of us choose, truthfully, and explain why we chose that. No commenting on answers. Your choice."

Oh fantastic. Question time. "Okay. I'll play, I guess."

"Excellent," he proclaims. "Do you want to go first?"

I shrug. I'm trying to think of a question that will horrify him enough to call a halt to it. "Not really."

"Alright." He sits cross-legged on the floor, facing away from me. "I always find it helps with this kind of thing if you can pretend that no-one can hear you," he explains.

I don't say anything, just sit out of his line of sight, facing the wall.

"Ready?" he asks.

I nod, then remember he can't see me. "I guess," I tell him.

"Alright. Indoors or outdoors?" he begins. He continues without waiting for me to answer. "Personally, I prefer being outdoors. You can escape more easily if you're ambushed. And there's nothing like a good landscape to restore your faith that there is some beauty in the world after all."

Silence. He doesn't prompt me to talk, and I don't rush to give my answer. I'm kind of amazed that he is actually going through with this. And at his answer. I think a lot of us would assume that he liked being enclosed, what with the dungeons thing and everything. Guess it just goes to show that you don't ever really know as much about people as you think. "Indoors," I say, breaking the silence. "I just, I dunno. Feel safer, I guess." I can't believe I'm saying this. Telling him this. "Outside just feels too...big sometimes." Stupid. "I'm not, like, agoraphobic or anything, though," I add defensively.

Silence falls again. It's some time before I realise that I am supposed to be asking the question now.

"Oh, um. I dunno." I find that I almost don't want to get him to end the game. I want to know more about him. And he's right, if I try hard enough, I can make out that he's not there anymore. "Um." I can't think of anything. "Cats or dogs?" I ask the first thing that comes into my head. God, how stupid can I get? What kind of question is that, for fuck's sake? For god's sake just stop whining and answer it. You chose it, Potter. "Um, I prefer cats, I guess. Cos Aunt Marge always had dogs, and they, um, barked a lot. And sort of chased me sometimes. And, y'know, Hermione and, um Crookshanks," I finish, lamely.

"Cats," he agrees. He sounds like he's smiling. God, he's laughing at me. "They're companionable creatures, much more so than dogs, I find. And I, too, have had bad experiences with dogs. Waking early or sleeping late?" Pause. "I can never wake up before 7:30am at the earliest." He lowers his voice, as if imparting a great secret. "When I started teaching, Albus used to get a house elf to come and get me up. After I missed the start of my first class three times in three days."

I can't help it, I laugh.

"Cheeky brat," he grumbles good-naturedly. "I work late." Sneaking about catching students out after curfew, we know.

After I finish laughing at him, I think for a minute. "I don't really mind," I tell him after a while. I hesitate. "I- I don't really sleep a lot," I admit after a minute. "Um, nightmares." It feels like a bigger admission than it is. I don't know why. I quickly ask my question. "Brooms or floo?" And just as swiftly answer it; "Brooms. I'm useless at flooing, and I'm still scared that the powder will fail and I'll get burned." I cringe a bit, then add something that I've never told anyone before, something I've barely admitted to myself. "I don't like flying all so much though. Especially recently. It's sort of the inside/outside thing I guess. And I'm always sort of scared that I'll fall."

Even though I can't see him, I get the feeling that he's itching to ask me something. In the end, he just comments that "Floo is my preference. Unfortunately, I've never really been able to get the knack of flying. Night or day?"Clears his throat. "I'd probably say night. It's easier to remain undetected in the shadows. Particularly useful for scaring unsuspecting miscreants."

I can practically _hear_ his smirk.

"Yeah. Um. The night. Like you said. Y'know. Less people around and stuff."Might as well. "And, I, um. I sort of, yeah. I like the dark. Being in the dark. You know. And stuff." I think that my coherence has perhaps reached new levels of pathetic. Good job, Potter. "'Cos-." I break off.

"Can we- can we stop now? Please?" I ask, as a lump lodges itself in my throat. It's ridiculous. I don't need the dark, I don't need to stop, I don't need to fucking cry again. I don't even know why I want to, so suddenly.

"Certainly," he replies solemnly. "Thank you, Harry."

I just sort of nod and scoot back against the wall, pull my knees up and hug them under my chin.

He comes and sits next to me. He says nothing, doesn't mock me for the way I'm biting my lip to stop it trembling, doesn't ask me to talk about anything I mention in the game.

Just sits back against the wall in silence, spells off the lights.

Puts an arm silently around my shoulders and pretends not to notice as my shoulders begin to shake. I'm not actually crying, just sort of shuddering, like I'm cold or something, even though it's perfectly warm in here. I can't stop.

But...

As we sit there in the dark, propped up against his living room wall, as my quivering subsides under his warm grip, I feel...hopeful. More than I have for years.

And, with the vitriolic voice usually present in my head strangely silent, I think that perhaps, just perhaps, everything will turn out okay after all.

-

A/N: I hope you like it. I hope you don't think Snape was too out of character. The game thing just seemed like the best way I could get Harry to open up. And Snape's answers just seemed right at the time. I feel like I might have rushed it a bit, but, I dunno. It just happened this way. To be fair, I did wait 14 chapters to give him a sortof breakthrough like this :P

Now, although I hadn't planned it when I started writing this chapter, I have to admit that the thought of ending it there is strangely compelling, but I'll leave it to you decide. Should I carry on, finish it off with an epilogue, finish it there but sequel it, or just leave it here? I'll count up votes I get in the next, say, week? And if I don't get any I'll take the hint and go away :P

If the general consensus turns out to be that I should end here, thank you all so much again for reading it and commenting on it, it honestly has meant loads.


	16. Epilogue

A/N: Okay, so this is an epilogue. This will be the final chapter I post for this. There might be an epilogue some time in the future, but I want to do a few other projects first, and it certainly won't be until the summer at least, because I don't want to start another longer fic until my exams are all over.

Thanks for all the good comments and all the support you've given me with it all the way along! hugs

-

Somehow, I am in _his_ rooms. In _his room_, even.

I clutch my knife, and ignore the voice in the back of my head that pleads with me not to, as I press it to my skin.

It's funny the way Severus somehow pushed Vernon out of my head and crept into his place. I didn't even notice it happening.

But I will not think of him. The blade tears at my skin, and it hurts.

I have never cut here before, and I feel sick to my stomach with myself for defiling it in this way. But I desperately want to trigger those wards that I tried so desperately to fool when I first stayed with Severus, and for some reason I feel safest in here.

I let myself bleed for a bit, sickened by what I am doing, sickened by the fact that I can still get relief from it even after all these months, even as I tell myself I don't. Then I vanish my knife and heal myself and force myself to acknowledge the truth.

He really isn't coming back.

I lie on his bed, caressing my new scar, and let my tears be blotted up by his pillow, and pretend to myself that I'm not too old to whisper to it that I want my dad, and that, when I do, I mean James Potter, and not his bitter rival.

-

I lay there for a long time. Not sleeping, not thinking, just being.

When I feel a hand on my back, I don't turn around, because it can only be one of two people; Dumbledore or Severus.

If it is Dumbledore, then I fear I might stab him if I see him.

If it is Severus, then I have finally fallen asleep, because dead people can only feel so real in your dreams, and I have no wish to turn over and face reality just yet.

I have no tears left, but a harsh, dry sob escapes me when Severus' familiar voice softly says my name.

My eyes close as his arms come around me, making me feel as safe as any child ever has in the arms of their father.

My fears melt away as the lights go off and he whispers that "He's gone, Harry. He's finally gone."

-

-

-

-

A/N: Okay, there totally needs to be a break here. I nearly split the epilogue into two chapters, seriously.

-

-

-

-

I try and talk to him all over breakfast, but find I can't. I force myself to eat despite my worry. I don't want to disappoint him any more than I have to.

I don't want him to know that I'm so weak that I couldn't cope when he wasn't there. I don't want him to be disappointed in me.

But I know I've got to tell him.

Which is why I'm hovering in the doorway of his study as he sits with his back to me, writing a report of Voldemort's defeat for the Order.

After what seems like hours, but is probably in reality about a minute, he turns around and smiles at me. "Harry," he says by way of greeting.

I give him a weak smile back.

He stands up and stretches. "I need some fresh air. Coming?"

I nod and walk with him out to the grounds.

We settle by the lake and he turns to me. "So," he begins.

Just at the same time as I stop prevaricating and blurt out that "I need to tell you something."

He inclines his head. "You first."

I shake my head. My momentary courage has vanished again.

The familiar crease between his eyebrows appears, but after ensuring that I'm sure, he starts again. "So." There's a pause, whilst he appears to search for the right words. "I wanted to ask you whether you-. That is, I mean to say, I know you're nearly seventeen, but-."

It's kindof funny when he gets like this. The unflappable, glib-tongued Potion's Master getting so frustrated about not being able to say what he wants in the way he wants. In a few seconds he'll give up and just say whatever he wants directly.

Three.

Two.

One.

And..."I want to adopt you." He's surprised himself. He always does. Then again, he's surprised me too. What the hell? "If you don't mind, that is," he adds.

God, do I not mind! I'm happier than I've been, well, ever, I think. Except-

Shit.

Shitshitshitshitshit.

I've gone and fucked it all up again. Saying that, saying what he's saying, he doesn't know what I did yesterday. He doesn't know what I've done yet. He doesn't know I've failed him again.

"Harry?" he says worriedly. "It doesn't matter if you don't want me to. It was just an idea. I don't need a piece of paper to- to tell me how I feel. It doesn't matter if you don't want it."

I shake my head vigorously. I _do_ want it. I do. "I do," I tell him. It's just that he won't when I tell him.

He looks puzzled. "What is it, then, Harry?"

I could just not tell him. I could just _not tell him._

"Harry?" he probes gently.

I open my mouth, then close it and shrug. Then I roll up my sleeve a bit and indicate the faint scar that is all that remains of yesterday's freak-out. "I'm really, really sorry," I whisper. I can't look at him. Please don't send me away, I add silently. Please still want me.

He reaches out and brushes a finger over it. "It's okay," he tells me softly, surprising me.

"I'm sorry," I repeat again. "I didn't...I mean...I just wanted you to come back, and I thought...the alarms...but it didn't even work, and I'm just really sorry. Really, really sorry," I reaffirm.

"Harry, it's okay," he repeats quietly. "I know. I don't imagine that you'll be completely over...everything for a while, if ever, really."

There is a silence.

"The offer still stands, if you want it," he tells me.

I smile, and smile, and can't stop smiling, even as my eyes fill up and I bite my lip. They're happy tears. I nod.

He reaches out his hand and tugs my lip out from where I have snagged it under my teeth. "None of that," he says, smiling about as much as I am. And hugs me.

And maybe I imagine it, but when I whisper 'Thanks Dad', ever so quietly against his robes, so quietly I don't think he'll hear me, just trying it out, I think he tightens his grip for a fraction of a second.

Dad.

--

A/N: Too sappy; check. Anti-climatic; check. Too long in coming; check. Too short; check. But, then, why change for the last chapter? :D

I hope you're not too disappointed with the ending to this fic, I wanted to sort of show get the transition Harry's had from dark to dad as his comfort, but also show that it's not that simple. I'm sorry he's not really absolutely fine, I almost made it a happy happy chapter, with none of that. But, maybe it's just me, but I don't know that it's really something that you can just snap out of. I feel that both the cutting and the eating stuff will probably be options, just a niggling at the back of his brain, for a while yet.

I'm sorry it was a while in coming again, but I've re-written it so many times it's ridiculous, I've decided just to get it out there before everyone's forgotten that it ever existed again :P

I imagine the time frame to be the summer after the Christmas they spent at Severus' house.

Just to make some things clear, Snape killed Voldemort. I don't know whether that was clear, but that's what happened. Sod the prophecy, I don't believe that if Snape cared for Harry he'd give two tosses about a prophecy, he'd find a way, I think.

Thanks again for reading and reviewing!

xx


	17. Alternative epilogue

Alternative epilogue (because the original was dire)

X

Lingering in the room that has been mine (mine!) all summer, I wonder whether I will ever come back here again.

Logically, I tell myself as I pack the remaining few bits and pieces – socks, a quill, two chess pieces I must have left out when I packed the set Ron sent for my birthday – there is no reason why I will not. Professor Snape – Severus – has not said I can't come back, and he is still my guardian. But...Voldemort is gone – he still won't tell me how, and when I protested about the prophecy, all he would say that he'd always been very poor at divination – and so I no longer need protection. I am of age now, I don't even need a guardian any more. And the longer I think of it, the more reasons I can think of for him to..._relinquish_ my care.

After Christmas, that Christmas that seems so long ago now but in reality was only just under a year ago, I gave up trying to trick him, trying to drive him away. I struggled through hours, days, weeks of being _good_. Of eating whatever was given to me, and of talking and talking and talking about everything, and of not giving in to that awful temptation to just _fuck everybody_, and just do whatever the hell I wanted. Not to just cut.

And although I did not (well, once or twice early on) and now I can just _not_...

...I still want to.

I still want to so much that it hurts, sometimes, so much that I have to get away and just stand still for a moment, until I can force down that debilitating _want_.

And it sickens me, inside, to know that I want this, and to know that I shouldn't want this. It feels like I am rejecting his help, rejecting everyone's help.

Which is why I don't tell anyone. Why everyone thinks they have cured me.

It turns out that I was right – everyone thinks they can cure you, but they can't.

They can help give you strong enough motivation to quash the desires a little, so you don't give in – I wouldn't do it again and I won't do it again, because of Hermione's tangible pain when she was near me and Ron's tears when he thought I was asleep and _his_ pride in me every time during that first term after Christmas that he saw me eat a whole meal and not go running out to purge it, every day that he saw that I hadn't cut - and the weight of his disappointment every time I gave in.

This is why I hope with all my heart that Severus lets me return here next summer.

Because they all say you must give up your vices for yourself, but they are all wrong.

If you hate yourself with the force that I did, and still do, why would you make the effort to give up for yourself?

You wouldn't. You don't.

Severus interrupts my cheerful thoughts with his usual brisk knock on the door. "Harry?"

"Come in," I call.

"Ready to go?" he asks as he comes into the room.

"Yup." I jump up off the floor and grab my case.

He scans the room and looks at me curiously. "You know, you don't have to take everything with you. It would still be here when you come back at Christmas." He backtracks quickly. "If you want to come for Christmas, that is."

A rush of joy spreads through me so quick I think I could burst. "I can come back?" I check quickly, feeling as if my face will split in two from the beam I can't quite prevent.

He looks confused. "Of course."

I can't help it, I leap forward and hug him tightly. "Thank you," I whisper. For everything, I add silently.

"You will always have a room here, Harry," he reassures me, as I release him.

Huh.

Maybe everything will be okay, after all.

X

The end (for real this time)

X

A/N: I hope that's marginally better than last time. It's still kindof lame, I know, and I'm not quite sure what is with the great long _thing_ in the middle. But there you go.

I'd like to emphasise that all that stuff about cutting and everything – that's just how I feel about it. I'd by no means suggest that everyone feels that way, and that it is impossible to get over, and I'm not trying to provide any kind of justification or whatever or anything for it. Please don't do it - I really, really would hate to think of anyone starting up that kind of thing; it is self-destructive and it isn't constructive in any way. Imma stop preaching now.

Eeeee, and by the way; Snape's dad? I like to think he's getting what he deserves – stuck in St Patheus' with nurse duck for the rest of his days


End file.
